


Lemon Drop Shot on a Bar Top

by Shejo



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Bottom!Lup, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 19:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17535137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shejo/pseuds/Shejo
Summary: There's a version of one night in a bar that goes just a little bit different than the last.





	Lemon Drop Shot on a Bar Top

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Served Up Neat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15904314) by [Shejo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shejo/pseuds/Shejo). 



> I realized I never did post the original version of "Served Up Neat" where Barry was the one pitchin' so here it is!

Blue fairy light cantrips cast shadows on sawdust and damp, beer-soaked wood. There are few patrons in the bar when Barry enters. A band sets up in the corner to play for coins, and no one bothers to look up from their mugs as he makes his way toward the bar.

She sits underneath neon that illuminates her back in ways that shows off just how muscular she is from her workouts and sparring matches with Magnus. The "V" shape of the top she wears dips just low enough to almost touch the waistband of her high-rise jeans. He knows when she finally stands, she'll be a knockout.

He pulls up a stool beside her. "Seems a shame," he says, throws her a lazy smile he hasn't used in at least 80 years.

"What's that, cowboy?" she asks with a chaser of well whiskey.

"That a lady like you should be drinkin' alone in a place like this."

The grin she flashes is wolfish as she calls to the barkeep. "A shooter for my good lookin' friend here. The good good stuff."

The bartender, a gruff Dwarven man, pulls out a bottle of amber wrapped in a black label.

"That's sippin' whiskey there darlin'," Barry says. "Everyone knows you, uh, don't shoot sippin' whiskey."

"I do," she says with a look that pierces straight to his heart. It's simple. A fact of life that she will break any and all rules. "So, what's your name cowboy?"

"Barry Bluejeans. You?"

"Dixie. Dixie Normous." And Barry almost shoots the liquor right out of his nose.

"Aw come on, Lu, that's not fair."

It's silly really. That they come to this tavern every few weeks to play this game, but it excites him. It's nostalgic even – for nights that Barry hardly remembers, but were youthful and rollicking.

Lup laughs now, too. Her hand is on his arm where it makes slow, sensuous motions against rough skin and hair. She calls for two highballs and never takes her eyes off him. Gods, he feels like he could do anything when she looks at him like that. He could take on the Hunger with only his bare hands.

"You look like you wanna beat your chest and throw me over your shoulder like a caveman," she says as she slips some coin across the counter to the Dwarf.

"Not quite yet," he says with a sip of his drink. He leans against the bar, tilts his hat up with his thumb. He has a better look at her outfit now with a neckline that plunges in the front just as much as it did in the back and a necklace made of turquoise somehow not too bulky on the angular valley of her chest. It almost distracts him from the hardened nipples that are on complete display in front of him. _Almost_.

"Why not?" she asks with feigned insult.

"Because I haven't even asked you to dance and you just bought my drink."

"What can I say? I know what I want."

Barry tries to shift his hip in an attempt to hide the hard-on that rises in his fantasy Wrangler's. She sure knows how to make it difficult to take it slow.

A fiddle whines and that's his cue to lead her onto the floor. It's a jaunty two-step, enough for a warmup without cutting _too_ much of a rug. He spins her out with a flourish, which she revels in as bystanders only watch in their seats.

Barry brings her back to him, her hair is flame that billows behind her as she tosses her head. Her shoulders follow the sway of his. Their hips follow right behind.

He must look goofy. Lovestruck. Because she says, "Those eyes will make a girl weak, Barry." And that makes _him_ weak. He never did like the muddy hazel of his eyes, especially as he aged, but how can he deny a compliment from Lup Taaco?

The song slows into another. It's familiar this time. They draw each other close—cheek to cheek. Barry can smell the spice of whiskey, the sweetness of flowery perfume, and the slightest bitterness of cigarette smoke on her neck. They find a grind even in this easy tune.

She must feel the boner he popped a while ago because she sighs with half-lidded eyes. He blushes, but he's unashamed of how turned on he is by her. How he can't wait to take her upstairs and ravish her.

"Nice buckle there, Champ," Lup says, breath hot in his ear. Coy as always.

"Got that for being the best bulldogger in the circuit. I think I was, uh, 19?"

She hums, and it's damn near a moan against his collar. Her fingers dance on top of the silver of the buckle.

Of course, she already knows the story, and the scar that resulted from a horn that pierced his side. She just wants to hear it again.

He guides his hand around her back, a gentle and brief cup of her ass. " _You're as warm as a glass of brandy. And honey I stay stoned on your love all the time. . ._ "

Lup almost goes slack at the dulcet tones against her hair. He would blame drink if he didn't know perfectly well that the country-boy shit wasn't exactly what she wanted. That and the fact that Lup could even beat him when it came to holding her alcohol.

Her hand moves from his chest to wind in the hair at the back of his neck. The way "Bear. . ." falls from her mouth lands heavy on the smoke in the room--That's all he needs.

Before he knows it, the door to their room for the night slams behind them, and he's sure the patrons of the bar are probably glad to know that the mating ritual will not in fact be carried out in front of them.

Lup makes quick work of the pearl snaps on his shirt as liquor-coated lips follow her deft hands. Her eyes never leave his even when she pulls his belt open.

"So much for whiskey-dick," she says, giddy.

"Ah. . .y-yeah," Barry manages to gasp. "Not gonna stop my guy when it comes to a pretty lady."

"It's a wide boy you got there, Bluejeans." She's still on the game.

She drops to her knees, throws her hair over her shoulder with bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Barry gulps and tries to roll with the desire that pools in his gut rather than get consumed by it, but what Lup does next, he's unprepared for.

She shoves at the neckline of her top, her necklace long gone by now, and presents two perky breasts which she palms. The lusty depth of her eyes have Barry's transfixed. There's a question in the air that she answers with a push forward.

Barry was always more of an ass man, but Lup's body in all ways has never been anything short of exquisite. And he definitely can appreciate the way she's made a perfect "baby arm" shaped spot between the peaks as she presses him against herself.

"Fuck, Lup," he says and has to brace himself against the dresser. His gaze goes to the ceiling because he knows she's smug. Even being titty-fucked, she is fierce, confident. And Barry won't be able to keep it together if he stares that kind of unabashed ferocity in the face.

The noises he makes are high like pleas to the Gods. He hopes that if they are listening, that they compel his wife to not stop what she's doing. He can't help but move his hips with her.

Fuck, if she doesn't know exactly what she does to him.

He feels the tip of her tongue glide across his head and his body lurches forward. "W-whoa! Shit," he exclaims.

"Did you almost nut?" she asks.

"B-babe!"

It's good-natured. Her lips curl into a smile and Barry wonders how he could've been so remiss as to not have kissed her before now.  He has to fix that.

He brings her flush against him to settle in the warm space of his arms. She tilts her head to accept his open-mouthed, earnest kisses.

They shed clothes in a flurry as Barry guides her backwards to the bed where he falls over her.

Lup clutches him close, basks in his mouth that sucks and bites at the skin of her jaw and neck. He leaves marks all the way to the swell of her breasts. She knocks his hat away and to the floor to grab at his hair once more.

"Bear," she gasps.

His lips ghost over the bone of her hip. "I'm thinkin' I should, uh, show you how good your ass looked in those jeans, babe," he says as he places hasty kisses at her navel, inches past her clit and along her thigh.

Lup mewls by the time he pushes her knees back and dips his head low. She's musky—all sex and sandalwood.  The taste of her is just the same as he takes long swipes at her entrance and watches her buck toward him for more.

He whispers a cantrip in the air between his hand and her thigh. He grasps upwards to a nipple as he pushes into her. The noises she makes are the most melodic and wonderful things he's ever heard—and he's lived long enough to hear some doozies. But when she starts to come undone underneath him. Incomparable.

He lets his mouth wander. A gentle suck at one of her balls makes her jerk and tug his hair harder. He groans in the back of his throat at the sting. He does it again just to feel it again as he watches her arch off the bed.

Barry teases her rim with a second finger. The flat of his tongue laves over her clit. "You know," he says. "They used to call me 'The Mouth' back in the day."

Lup writhes, tries to coax his mouth and that second finger to do her bidding. "So use it to show me why," she says.

His chuckle rumbles through him and he relents.

He wants to reach down to relieve some of his own tension, but he knows he's too riled up to stop before he finishes himself off. Instead, he curls his arm under her knee to hold on. With another push of his hand, Lup bows back into Barry's welcome mouth.

She works herself between this ebb and flow and shouts into the still night.

The bridge of his glasses presses hard with the force of her hand that remains clutched in his hair. It's delightfully stifling the way she manages to fuck his face while he opens her up. And he would stay here, except that he's worked very hard to have her take him.

He pulls off and Lup whines into the pillows around her. She pouts, and Barry catches his breath a moment before he takes her face in his hands to kiss her.

He spreads her as she guides him inside. He grunts low as she inches him deeper. Her face is soft, wrecked.

"Tell me what you want, Lu," he says against her collarbone.

Without hesitation she says, "Fuck me, Bear."

"Hold on to me." And she does as he takes her into his arms. He pins her to the wall and practically throws his dick into her.

"H-haaaa. Yes!" she screams and moves her body in downward grinds.  She bites the lobe of his ear and makes rough growls.

"Y-yeah?" he asks, emboldened by her enthusiasm. "You—ah!—y-you like that? You feel so fucking good, babe." He gives her ass an appreciative smack for encouragement.

Her nails catch on his biceps and she _giggles_ at him as she glides a hand over herself.

A painting beside them slams into the wall with each punctuated thrust. Lup babbles now, psyches them both up with outrageous proclamations of passion, tells him how good he makes her feel, how wound up he's got her.

The wall rumbles back and so does Barry. Her clit brushes against his belly, her voice climbs to a higher pitch along his own.

She comes with a heady shout of his name. The scene of hunting dogs and horses charging forward falls to the ground as Barry snaps his hips upward in a desperate attempt to finish soon after. And he's close, _so close_ when she looks at him through the fan of her lashes and her cheeks burn with heat. Her breasts heave with the rest of her shaky orgasm, and he's done for—pulls her down to the hilt to release.

They collapse on the bed after Barry parts them. His hand braces his heart, half afraid it could go out at any moment. But what a way to go, he thinks.

He's brought back from his thoughts by Lup's fingertips that dance on his cheek. "Your glasses are crooked," she says.

"That'll happen sometimes," Barry says, and pulls the fur blanket of their bed over them.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Barry orders a scramble at the bar. Lup is beside him, hand on his thigh as she admires the handiwork of her lips across his skin.

"And some smoked sausage for the lady," Barry says—All mischief and marital bliss.

"Ooh, you're bad, big boy," she says as she slips her other hand into his back pocket and pinches.

"Hey buddy," a patron calls from across the tavern. "You kept half the place up last night. It yer honeymoon or somethin'?"

"Nope," Barry says, not the slightest bit concerned that they hadn't cast silence last night. He doesn't even look in the guy's direction because all there is, is Lup's satisfied brown-eyed gaze that makes him want to take her back to bed and do it all over. "Just a weekend with the missus."

 

 


End file.
